What directors Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer have created with monstrosities such as “Epic Movie,” “Meet the Spartans,” and “Disaster Movie” is a subgenre that brings the beauty of parody down to the level of amateurs. Enter Craig Moss, a filmmaker whose only professional credit (according to IMDB) is something called “Saving Ryan’s Privates” from 1998. I doubt Moss’s own mother has even heard of him. Nevertheless, the untested director is raring to step up to the plate with his own oh-so-cleverly titled concoction, “The 41-Year-Old Virgin Who Knocked Up Sarah Marshall and Felt Superbad About It.” Like the work of Friedberg/Seltzer, the results are absolutely atrocious, unfunny, and fail to respect the art of the spoof.The work of Judd Apatow is the primary influence for this picture, with the film’s “plot” concerning Andy (Bryan Callen) and his quest to lose his virginity, thus taking him through a battery of shenanigans that involve chest waxing, speed dating, and stand-up comedy. Also in the mix is McAnalovin’ (Austin Michael Scott), a punk teen caught up with two corrupt cops, Beat (Chris Spencer) and Yo’ Ass (Randall Park), while his pals attempt to secure alcohol for a party. Hilarity ensues.
I’m kidding. Nothing even remotely associated with hilarity ensues. Boredom ensues. Irritation ensues. Perhaps a few tears of agony ensue. However, hilarity most certainly does not ensue. Hilarity is not welcome ‘round these parts.
Apatow’s filmography (as both producer and director) feeds the film’s diseased imagination, allowing Moss to restage famous bits with his own appalling tweaks. McLovin’ is now McAnalovin’, the chest waxing effort actually removes nipples, and Yoda has huge testicles from a lack of sexual release (wait, what?). Perhaps jealous of the filmmaker’s ubiquity, Moss has decided to skewer Apatow, since there’s little in the film executed with any sort of lighthearted whimsy. However, the Apatow pictures are already on the self-aware side, making lampoon a futile effort. But holy mackerel, that doesn’t stop Moss, who keeps rolling out the contemptuous, humorless “merriment,” sold by a cast that should be locked out of the business for life.
Beyond the Apatowian angle, there’s a Grand Theft Auto sequence (we know this because a character states they’re about to get “Grand Theft Auto” on the situation -- thanks for pointing that out movie!); Sarah Silverman mimicry (why?); commercial parodies; various sperm, vomit, fart, feces, menstrual blood, and urine jokes (what is it with these films and gross-out humor?); and jabs toward “Twilight,” “To Catch a Predator,” “American Pie” (timely!), “There Will Be Blood,” “Star Wars,” and “Slumdog Millionaire.” There are more targets to list, I’m sure, but after a good two minutes of the film, it all starts to blur into a haze of feverish stupidity -- the film steals precious moments of life that can never be returned.
The second half heads to “Hawaii” (a.k.a. West Hollywood) so Moss can work the “Sarah Marshall” material into the film and launch a bizarre tirade against hotel overcharges. Oh well, at least it doesn’t involve someone farting. Whoops. Actually, it does.
Good lord…remember, Brian, it’s “down the road,” not “across the street.”Dear readers, this is one brutal motion picture, shoddily produced and mercilessly imbecilic. It lasts only 74 minutes, but I promise these will be the longest, most aggressively acrid 74 minutes of your life. Don’t give Craig Moss your time or your money. Watch coverage of the BP oil disaster instead. I guarantee it’s funnier.
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originally posted: 07/02/10 12:44:23